What's in a Name
by swancharmings
Summary: Harvey realizes that marriage comes with many new 'firsts'. One-shot, post-canon


**Note: **_I have prompts I'm working on and yet this popped unbidden into my brain. This is a little self-indulgent as well, since it's smack-dab in the middle of tax season and all I do is eat, sleep, and breathe accounting right now... naturally, my mind wanders to Harvey and Donna and this is what came out of that._

_Thank you to Heather and Alyssa for the tag-team beta, I love you both more than words._

_Please let me know what you think :)_

Harvey realizes that marriage comes with many new 'firsts' — some inevitable, some unexpected, but never unwelcome.

Living together, for one. There is no real adjustment for them, he finds, given that they'd spent the majority of their days — and nights — together for the past fifteen years. Even with their separate apartments during those first months, they never felt distanced — home was each other, simple as that. So this is a natural progression. They know each other, inside and out — quirks, annoying habits, things that make them tick, things that make them happy. That he needs space when he's working through a particularly challenging case, that she _does not talk _in the mornings until she's had her cup of coffee.

It's better, though, because there's no sipping scotch on opposite ends of the couch, longing gazes through glass doors or blatant ignorance to their feelings. It's Donna reading in bed while he cuddles up to her side after a long day in court. It's painting their kitchen, her laughter when he lifts her by the waist to reach above the fridge and her annoyance when he forgets to put painter's tape along the backsplash. It's shared showers, catching up on Survivor with Donna's favorite wine, unpacking groceries on Sunday afternoons, talking about their days, sharing losses and wins and good and bad and everything in between.

It's...domestic. But it's _them_, all the same. And Harvey loves it.

He thinks — no, he knows — it has everything to do with the woman he's sharing this with, rather than the events themselves.

Then there's the subtle combination, the _us_, beyond just the legal union from the wedding. The joint signatures on cards — something small, yet something he takes note of when Donna tells him to hurry up and sign Mike's birthday card because they'll be here any minute. She's already scrawled a brief message, the "_and_" under her name tugging deep in his chest as he signs his own below it. _Donna and Harvey_. It's a full minute later before he stuffs the card in its envelope.

When Donna comes home one night with her W-2 and starts discussing the benefits of filing a joint tax return, Harvey can't contain his grin. She rolls her eyes.

"I never thought I'd see you get excited about taxes, Harvey," she teases, as his arms circle her waist.

"That's because I've never shared them with you," he says, downright giddy.

Because if there is one thing Harvey hates, it's his tax return.

Precisely why he always farmed it out. He had a perfectly good accountant in the city he'd been using for years; she knew his financial situation backwards and forwards and was always quick to tell him where to put his money for an extra credit or two.

But the first year in Seattle had been hectic, and he just didn't have the time or the energy to ship the documents across the country. Then it was March 27th and his K-1 arrived in the mail and, well, people did this on their own all the time, right?

And it was different this year, for one very special reason. That reason sits next to him on their sofa this morning, laptop on her pajama-clad lap, looking over their bank statement — _their _bank statement, another _us _— with that trademark level of detail he knows and loves.

He stares at the box checked MARRIED FILING JOINTLY with a grin so wide his cheeks hurt. It's been six months, and something as simple and mundane and _normal _as this still sends him reeling in the best possible way.

Everything is and always has been more fun with Donna, and this is no exception. They struggle through the instructions over a shared cup of coffee, papers scattered everywhere and the fire crackling away. Donna nudges her cold feet under his legs and he grumbles good-naturedly while she giggles.

She pats his knee and gets up for a refill, passing the laptop to him in a silent agreement to finish. He complies, a wave of contentment washing over him as his name blinks under SPOUSE.

"Looks good," Donna notes as she sits back down, eyes scanning the front page. "We made out okay."

"Marrying me has some benefits," he quips, and she pinches his side as she laughs.

"I guess it does," she snickers, then hums. "Huh."

"What?"

"You got my name wrong."

Harvey doubles back to the top lines and traces over her name with a careful eye.

"No, Donna, I didn't. Unless you're going to drop a bomb on me now that 'Paulsen' is spelled with an 'O' and make me look like an idiot for the past fifteen years."

Donna doesn't respond, leaning over him to type next to her surname on the screen.

The seven letters she adds there take his breath away.

She stares at him proudly, smile threatening to break her face in half as he opens and closes his mouth over and over again.

"I — don't understand." The words stumble out, stutter over the cacophony of his heartbeat.

Donna simply raises an eyebrow and waits.

Harvey swallows, brushes her knuckle with his thumb. "We never talked about...I mean..."

That gentle smile is back. "I didn't think we had to."

He looks up at her curiously. She shrugs.

"It's always been you and me, Harvey. And I know we don't need to mark it, but...I wanted to." Her voice drops to a whisper. "You're a part of me. And I want the world to know it."

Harvey is moved. He blinks, staring at his wife — his _wife_; Donna Paulsen-_Specter_ — with pure adoration and wonderment.

"I belong to you," he says finally, cupping her face in his hands. "Completely."

She leans into his touch. "I'm glad you don't mind."

"Mind?" he asks incredulously. "It's your name, Donna — I'd never decide something like this for you." He pulls her close to him, plants kisses on her jaw. "But — I love it."

She sighs into his mouth, winds her arms around his neck. He lowers her down along the couch, never breaking their connection.

Harvey's lips trail over her body, softly caressing her skin, whispering her new name like a prayer. Each utterance of _Specter _sends an electric current through him, ricocheting off her moans to bury deep in his chest. _Specter Specter Specter_. Donna. Donna Paulsen-Specter. He holds her gaze and mouths it against her lips as he pushes into her, every inch of them fusing together.

Donna wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him deeper. She links her left hand with his, rings clashing together in a rhythm all their own.

"I love you, Harvey," she tells him, voice rich with emotion, the same warm tone she used in her vows and every day since.

They get their confirmation of payment, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Paulsen-Specter, and to Harvey nothing sounds sweeter.


End file.
